


What He Wants

by ThatComicGirl52



Series: Monthly Oneshots [15]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: I really like this one, M/M, Monthly oneshot, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17958050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatComicGirl52/pseuds/ThatComicGirl52
Summary: “What do you want?”“Same thing I’ve always wanted. You.”





	What He Wants

**Author's Note:**

> This is my monthly oneshot for March. Thank you so much to Do_The_Cool_Whip, who without her, this oneshot would not exist. This was the oneshot pairing that was voted for this previous month on my monthly oneshot poll. To find out how you can take part in my poll, and have access to more exciting things having to do with my fanfiction, check out my tumblr at thatcomicgirl52.tumblr.com.  
> This fic takes place in a different universe then my fanficiton, Million Reasons To Leave.

“Pennybags, are you there?” I ask, pressing against the com in my ear. I wait for an answer, but get nothing, “Pennybags, answer me.”

I furrow my brow in confusion, my lips pressing together in a deep frown. What the hell? Alfred was just there, walking me through the blueprints of the building, before he stopped mid sentence. 

Did the com in my ear break? Did we lose connection? That doesn’t seem likely. This is the most expensive, most highly advanced technology that exists. It’s not even available to the military yet, so there’s no way I could have lost connection. It doesn’t make any sense.

I look down the long and dark hallway, resisting the urge to curse. The walls are lined with closed doors, a good hiding place for anyone to pop out and take me by surprise. It’s dangerous to be in this deserted building without any sort of backup, especially when there’s an assassin waiting for me around every corner. Now that I’ve lost connection to Alfred, I’m going to have to be extra careful.

I pause, staying as still as a statue as I listen for any movement. Maybe I am going up against several trained assassins, but they’re not the only ones who have been professionally trained. 

I glance over to a door three rooms down on the left. Someone’s hiding in there. 

I approach with caution, just as I have been trained to do. Pulling my escrima sticks out from behind my back, I kick the door open, preparing myself for a surprise attack.

But there isn’t one. The room is deserted, disheveled. There’s nothing but an old, rotting cot in the corner of the room. It smells awful, like death. I know the smell of a death. You don’t live the kind of life I’ve lived without knowing what a dead corpse smells like.

I don’t even hear him approach me. I was ready for an ambush, and yet, he still took me by surprise. He hits me behind the knee caps first, and I collapse from the impact. 

I bite back a cry of pain. That hurt like hell. He’s strong, this assassin. Stronger than most. 

I don’t waste a moment though. I’m up in a flash, doing a backflip over him, my feet landing on the wall for just a moment. Just enough time for me to be in the perfect position to attack.

He’s too quick though. He’s so fast, in fact, that it’s almost like he knows what I’m going to do next before I do it.

As I leap for him, he moves out of the way and grabs me by the arm, whacking the escrima sticks out of my hands. They land somewhere across the other side of the room. Too far for me to reach. 

He slams me down against the floor with a loud, “CRASH!”

The floorboards break under me. I take a second to find my breath again, but before I have the chance to, he kicks me in the stomach. I gasp in surprise, not even having the chance to cover myself before his boot is pressing against my temple, trapping me against the broken floor. 

He presses down harder, and I grit my teeth, trying not to show how much pain I’m in.

Damn. I can’t remember the last time I received such a beat down. It’s awful. My whole body aches with pain. It’s terribly humbling, being reminded that there will always be someone stronger, tougher, and smarter than me. No matter how hard or how long I train.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. You’re not terrible,” I manage to say through gasping breaths. I try my best to crack a smile, trying to act like I’m fine and can get up any minute I choose. But I know it’s no use. The guy isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s not that I’m not choosing to get back up. It’s because I’m just not capable of it.

“You’re an idiot, and your techniques are atrocious. Such a pity,” a deep, familiar voice says. I pause at the sound of his voice. I know that voice. I’ve heard it everyday since I was eight years old. But that doesn’t make any sense. How can it possibly be….

I try to look up, but the heel against my head presses down harder, locking me in place. I growl in frustration, angry that he has the upper hand. Of course he does, he’s Batman. But why the hell is he doing this?

Bruce wouldn’t do this. I mean, I know he’s got a dark side, but not towards me. Not like this. The only thing I can think of to explain Bruce acting this way is mind control. Maybe it’s the work of Poison Ivy?

“Bruce, please. Don’t do this,” I beg, and I hate that I’ve resorted to something so pitiful. I close my eyes in an effort to calm myself.

Another thing that doesn’t make any sense about this situation is that Bruce isn’t in uniform. It looks like he’s wearing dark pants and a black hoodie with protective padding. Not his normal wear for his night shift. 

Bruce chuckles, and it sends a shiver down my spine. He sounds weird. Bruce doesn’t laugh like that. His laugh is close to that, but not quite.

“Stupid boy. Do you really think I’m your pathetic Batman?” He says, his voice as poisonous as venom. My heart skips a beat, because I realize my mistake. 

This isn’t Bruce. Bruce isn’t being mind controlled.  No, it’s much worse than that. 

“Owlman.”

“About time,” he says, lifting his foot off of me, and then grabbing me by the collar of my uniform. He lifts me off the floor as easily as one would lift a feather. I struggle and wiggle in his grasp, choking, but Owlman just lifts me higher. He snickers as my eyes meet his, making me want to punch him out even more. Not that I can, even if I wanted to.

Instead, I wrap my hands around my neck, a clear sign that he’s choking me with my own suit. I’m hoping he’ll act a little out of character and show me a little mercy. 

“Having trouble breathing, bird?” He asks, smirking. 

It’s so hard for me to look Owlman straight in the eyes. They’re so much like Bruce’s, that sometimes it makes it hard for me to hate him. I have to remind myself that this isn’t Bruce. This is Thomas Wayne Jr.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he lets me go. I drop to the floor, landing on my knees as I cough and breathe in the filthy air. I don’t care though. Filthy air is better than no air.

“What do you want?” I ask, after I’ve managed to stop coughing.

Instead of answering, Owlman grabs me by the arm, and lifts me back into a standing position. I feel pathetic, weak. It’s far too easy for Owlman to throw me around like a rag doll. He holds my chin with a painfully strong grip, forcing me to look nowhere but at his face. The last place I want to look right now.

“Same thing I’ve always wanted. You,” he says, the words making me wince. Only god knows how long I’ve waited to hear those words come from that voice, but not like this. Never like this. Never from Owlman.

The urge to hit him is so much greater now, but since I can’t do that, I do the next best thing. I spit in his face.

Owlman doesn’t like that. 

He growls, wiping my saliva out of his eye. I can’t help but smirk at my perfect aim, feeling triumphant for a moment. Right before Owlman throws me back down onto the floor, my body screaming in anguish. 

I try to stand, but he presses his heel against the small of my back. I struggle underneath him, but he only presses harder. I know that the more I struggle, the harder he will press, and the more bones he will break. Owlman will do it. I know he will.

“Don’t be an idiot, Grayson. I can make all of this very easy for you,” he says, crushing down. I close my eyes, biting my lower lip so hard that it begins to bleed. “If only you would stay still, listen, and be a good little boy for me.”

I can hear the smile in his voice, the sneering satisfaction he gets out of saying those words. How satisfied he is to have me weak and desperate beneath him. It disgusts me. It makes me want to vomit.

I expect him to hurt me. To torture me, to tie me to a chair and cut me open like he’s the butcher and I’m the hog. I can’t imagine him having any other plan for me. 

I’m wrong. What he does instead scares me even more. His foot against my spine lightens, and in the blink of an eye, he’s lifting me back off the floor, pushing me up against the nearest wall.

My back hits the wall with a loud thud, knocking the wind out of me. Again. 

As I try to catch my breath, Owlman presses his body against mine, his breathing heavy against my ear. I can feel the light touch of his lips on my skin. 

It makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation. I can already feel myself begin to harden against his body. My face goes red with shame. 

I shouldn’t be reacting this way. God, I wish I wasn’t, but it’s been so long for me. Far too long since the last time I had sex, and I’ve longed for a body just like this one for so long now. I can’t help it.

“You like this, don’t you Grayson?” He whispers, his breath hot against my neck. Owlman snickers, shifting his body so one leg is between mine. He grinds down, his crotch rubbing against mine. 

I can’t even answer him. I can only manage to gasp, wrap my arms around his back, and try to think coherent thoughts. I want to tell myself this is wrong, awful really, but I can’t even form the thought. Much less say it out loud. All I can do is gasp and whimper as Owlman grinds down harder. 

“Fuck yeah, I’m going to fuck you so bad,” he growls, before leaving a trail of bites and licks down my neck. 

Those words only turn me on further, one of my legs wrapping around his waist for better support. I don’t try to pretend anymore, I don’t bother to try and deny myself what I truly want. Maybe if I just close my eyes, I can pretend. I can pretend it’s Bruce and not Thomas. 

I can feel his hands at my suit, ripping it into shreds, desperate to feel skin. I only encourage him further with moans that sound like they came right out of a porno. I can’t even make myself care that he’s ruining my Nightwing suit. I know that I’ll have to explain myself later to Bruce and Alfred, but right now, I don’t even care about that. 

Right now, I can only think of one thing. Being fucked by this big, thick, strong cock.

  
  


****************

 

I wake up in the abandoned building, alone and naked. The cold air feels like a shock of electricity against my bare skin. Morning light spills into the dirty room through the broken window, dust particles floating through the air. 

It’s a terrible reminder of the real world. I wish I didn’t have to come back to it.

I close my eyes, the memory of last night washing over me like a tidal wave. It hurts my stomach just to think about it. The shame and embarrassment are all too much to handle. 

I lean over to vomit, but nothing but stomach acid comes out. It burns to even try and puke. I shiver in disgust, laying my head back against the wall. 

I still don’t fully understand what happened last night. I don’t understand how Owlman got here, or why he was so desperate to fuck me, or why none of the other assassins interrupted us last night. 

I can’t make sense of any of it. I glance around the empty room, trying to listen for even just a scrape of a sound, but there’s nothing. I begin to think it was all a dream. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.

Looking down at my torn up suit, I wonder how I’m going to explain this to Alfred. Thank god Bruce is away in Italy, tracking down a criminal empire. At least I won’t have to face him when I get back to the cave.

Still, I’m sure Alfred has already alerted him to the fact that I dropped off the radar. I’m going to have a lot to answer for when I get back home.

The creak of an old door catches my attention, and I jump to my feet, ready for a fight despite my disheveled appearance. 

“Richard,” I hear him say, with a voice far too soft for such a harsh man. His voice echoes off the empty halls. 

I don’t want to answer him. I don’t want to follow that voice, but I have to. I need to solve this puzzle. I need answers.

So I follow Owlman’s voice, far into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this one. It might sound terrible, but this ended up being one of my favorite ones.


End file.
